The Underdogs
by AmberKendsLacy
Summary: Everyone knows the Rouges,and power they have. But what of the ones hidden in the limelight,what about the Underdogs? A mysterious drug dealer is made to investigate one of these second placers, but will her own identity be revealed in the process? Will she join the Underdogs? Or will what she has in common with the Justice League get in the way? Adult situations and language.


**The Oc's are mine, everything else belongs to DC**

* * *

People have always told me I shouldn't do drug dealing and that I'm ruining my life, that life is worth living and I'm choosing death.

But screw it; I'm living in Gotham aren't I? Exactly how much of a good life are you capable of living when that is your choice of environment? I mean sure, I could be a drug free, law abiding goody-goody. Maybe I'd graduate High School, go to Collage, then law school, and make a name for myself in the court room as a stand up lawyer or judge.

Then, if I'm lucky, I'd get a half-face shot of burning chemicals from some one I pissed off.

But wait! I hear you shout, that's just a one time incident, it won't happen again. And you may be right, but then again what are the odds that something similar would happen if...

I worked at a chemical plant or...

Became a psychologist with one particular patient...

An environmental enthusiast...

Or even professor at the college with maybe a little bit of an obsession with fear.

You get what I mean. Nothing you do here will help you, if you have a name that in anyway seems to fit with a genre or cliché of any kind; you're screwed both for life and in your mind. That's why I chose a career (if you can call it that) that both cements myself as a bad guy, but at the same time I couldn't and would not dared to be labelled as a screw loose, I'd lose business, and then others lose their fix. It really does have this beautiful cause and effect pattern to it that I would have loved to watch go down the drain, if it weren't my livelihood going down with it.

Also, as if it were a plus, I ain't a big time boss either, I'll leave that to people like Falcone and his like. In fact I'm not even considered a boss to anyone, being even that far up on the food chain could have consequences that I'm not prepared to hold. Being small and actually rather unknown is always nice. Cops won't mess with you if you have some of what they actually want on hand, and don't get me wrong there are some incorruptible cops out there. But exactly how many are there in Gotham? Like...One? Oh Yeah, we've got quite the track record here.

Another plus I forgot to mention, if you're that careful, and you know where to tread, the Bat brigade will never find you. I should know, I've been in business for years, haven't been caught yet. Don't worry, I ain't getting cocky or nothing, hell I'm quite the humble person to be around if you catch me at a sober moment. If you're lucky.

Nether the less, I bet your wondering exactly why I'm telling you all this. Well, as it turns out...Being small time doesn't last long. Soon, despite best attempts, you do get noticed.

Then all hell breaks loose.

* * *

My apartment isn't exactly something you'd call hospitable, but I doubt there was even one junkie that was residing temporarily in there that gave damn that the drapes hadn't been cleaned for the past few weeks, or years I really don't remember. I barley ever get regular customers, since small business people like me are nearly every where in this city. Really it's like the holes in Swiss cheese, you could get rid of them, but people would notice and question it.

But if I were ever to call someone a regular customer of any kind, and be that I mean I've seen him more than once, it'd be Jay. Now he's nothing special really, not one thing I've seen in him I ain't seen in any other Junkie in Gotham, but he was polite, in the circumstances anyway.

Of course my definition of polite in these circumstances would be someone who wasn't trying to get a different kind of free hit off me, if you know what I mean. His appearance wasn't clean, but judging form his dirty blonde dreadlocks and the white wife beater and black skinny jeans I'd only ever seen him wear, well... I'd seen worse in my time.

I guess I'd never really bothered to ask after his life, what his dreams were, if he could even remember them. What he did with his life, where he worked. But then again, I'm not really a people person. Which was great since this job I'd... 'Occupied', didn't really entail getting to know people.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make here is that regular people like Jay (who only came around once in a blue moon, looking as though he'd walked into a million cement walls before he got there,) were really rare, and I guess you don't realise that until... well... their gone. Like really... gone.

And that's what Jay was. Completely gone, dead, pushing up those metaphorical daises...Right on my living room carpet. And while regular customers weren't an occurrence, planned deaths assuredly were. It wasn't any of my business really, but I could tell when a guy was buying from me to top himself. I never tried to stop them, since the back payments for those times were really great, but it was always a bitch to clean up after their passing. Which really, I find rather inconsiderate of them.

Jay's untimely clock out was different however, since he came in and bought out his usual bit, and was now grinning like a stupid freak on my carpet, that same lip breaking grin I'd seen on Joker Victims on late, late night TV. I took the used needle form his cold, calloused hands, making sure not to touch the rather dangerous pointy end (I've always hated using needles) and flicked the glass, the remaining liquid inside wobbling a little bit but otherwise not doing much.

"Oh great." I sighed, looking over at the only, at this moment, other sober person on the apartment. It was just some prostitute Jay had brought with him to try some 'new stuff'. She, apparently, hadn't done drugs yet and this was going to be her first time. And I could tell from looking at her now, she was defiantly enthusiastic about it, in a sarcastic manner of speaking.

"So he was fine until he took the needle, and then just started cackling like a god damn freak show?" She nods softly to my question, a little too afraid to speak. Usually I'd offer the sober witness a free shot, but I can tell how adamantly she'd refuse, and I don't blame her. Right now Jay's face is taking my sobriety to a new level, I'm actually questioning what I'm going to do next.

"Well, where do we go from here?" I still have the needle in my hand, there's not that much liquid left in it, Jay being considerate enough to have nearly all of it in his now crumbling system. Still, I'd read the news, the statics, one small dose of Joker Serum could do some one in within a few seconds, the gas more long dragging since it needs to be inhaled. Psychotics usually loved to drag those kinds of things out whenever they can. And no, it's not as if I've ever had experience with that yet and thank god to. The prostitute speaks up for the first time since screaming for me to somehow help the already gone Jay. She seems scared, playing with the edge of her ruby red, skin tight dress, staring deliberately at the dirty carpet floor as she doesn't want to meet my gaze at this moment.

"W-we... We should go to the police..." I was waiting for that. Really I'm not surprised of this, but at the same time there was a part of me hoping that this woman's intelligence wasn't as low and demeaning as her neck line. I sighed, looking briefly up at the ceiling, raising my hands and shrugging at it, as if telling the great holy spirit himself a genuine 'eh what can you do, I tried.' The whore was staring at me as if I too, was loosing it, so I used this moment to move forward, and plunge the needle right into her hickey covered neck.

She juts and shakes about then falls on the filthy ground, wriggling around for a little while longer. Eventually like I predicted, the gasps for dying air turned to gasps between bouts of freaky and ear drum busting psychotic laughter that roused a few of the passed out druggies, before they feel back into their high lulls. The wriggling soon stops and she's now dead silent, both Jay and her now having more than one thing in common in this world.

"I was being fucking rhetorical." I spat at the silent corpse, turning to look at Jay, if that was even his real name, (not that I gave a damn of course). Using my foot, I managed to roll Jay on his stomach, his freaky face now thankfully hidden from me as I turn and do the same to his one time acquaintance. I had said before that it wasn't a pleasant sight, and I was not really that okay with continuing to look at it for continuing amounts of time.

"Well Jay, since you were a regular of some description, I guess I do owe you a burial." I walk over to one of the many stoners, kicking him fiercely with the steel toe of my boots (always wear those when dealing with a crack house; you never know what you could step on, or in). The customer murmurs angrily but still opens his bloodshot eyes, watching me carefully. I think it took him a few seconds to notice that he was no longer sufficiently high, and wanted more.

"I want more." Well, there was that to. His demand is understandable enough, but I still have two corpses in my living room, something I don't generally like. I walk into my bathroom; a safe was there that I had been lucky enough to receive when I got the run down place. Inside is all of the stuff I would be fortunate enough to grab when the going was good, which right now, it definitely was.

There were a few needles, only some of them of course being actually clean, while others where full of what Jay liked to call 'good stuff'. There was the chance that this 'good stuff', was poisoned like Jay's fix was, so I wasn't going to take the chance of ever touching them. Plastic bags were also there, filled with other drugs, whatever you're fancy. Wads of cash, some of them not actually American, (some customers like to think they're so funny, but I know those notes will help me at a later time.) Amongst all this was a hand gun, loaded with the safety off, since I have a career that doesn't exactly scream a certain sense of safety in the first place. I grab the gun, bags and needles, the stuff I knew the other customer did like and need depending on circumstances. Walking back to where the passed out man was, I wasn't surprised to see that he was unconscious again. I kicked him with an extra degree of force, and he mumbled the same drivel.

Kneeling to his slumped level I held up the two needles to his ugly face, swaying them slightly, the kitchen light filtering through a hole in the rotted out drywall to glint across the glass and into his face as he watched, his head following the light almost hypnotically. But when he made a grab for them I quickly moved away, leaving his hand and head to slump forward for a few seconds before looking back up at me with a half focused glare. I stand up and point at the two corpses in the living room with as much obviousness as I could convey to him.

"Get rid of them, and you can have these." He stands up, swaying slightly around, at one time walking in a complete circle, (which while hilarious, he was wasting day light and my time). Actually what time was it? I peek out through the dirty drapes and am not shocked to see that its night. Well that only helps more in what I needed the possibly not sober idiot to do. Eventually he gets there and starts dragging the lifeless body of Jay outside and into the car park beyond. It's at this moment I have to thank the lord that I got a first floor apartment, since while the image of this moron dragging Jay down multiple stairs past a vacationing family or innocent old ladies, I would be screwed. He drags Jay over to a truck, most likely his since he unlocks it with the keys in his pocket. He puts Jay inside, sitting him up in the back seat and ...Buckling him in? Okay...

He shuffles back, grabs the dead body of the whore, and then gives me a questioning look. I raise an eyebrow at him in disgust nodding my head pointedly at her disfigured face. He seems to notice it for the first time and shivers, continuing to drag the body out of the apartment without another suggestion. I watch him pull the truck out of the car park, and don't go back inside until I see it go out into the street, connecting into the high way beyond.

I walked back into the bathroom, stopping only to grab a purse nearby that probably belonged to the now retired whore. I placed all of the both empty and full needles in two plastic bags and then wrapped in a washcloth I had found in the cupboard, not wanting to be accidentally pricked by the stupid things. The rest of the stuff isn't treated with as much careful consideration, instead shoving as much as I could in there, the gun actually being placed in my jacket pocket. After wards I walk into the kitchen, taking a lighter and keys from one of the passed out customers. Luckily there were no real connections that could link me to this cheap hovel, having signed in the apartment out in a fake name, and with my boss's credit card. I kept walking then, out in to the night, stopping in the centre of the car park, holding the keys up in the air and clicking the small device on the keys and waited for the sounds of a car being unlocked.

The car across from me was the lucky one and I quickly climbed in, happy to see that it wasn't empty on gas or about to explode from lack of care, and could take me far from this place. As I pulled out of the car park I looked back at the run down apartment, smirking in the review mirror. There was a good chance that the druggies that were OD'd in there would eventually either die, or wake up and after a few days, realize that I was not coming back, really it was a funny thought.

"Yeah, thanks Jay." I drove for a good while, towards the city of course. Usually I liked to be a little out of the city's district, therefore making it easier to skip cities and states if I ever felt to hot under the collar for my own liking. But the circumstances that had taken place tonight would probably be deemed important in my boss's interests.

* * *

True this car was neither as great nor as good looking as I would like, but still it worked so there wasn't much I could do. I pulled up to an actually rather expensive clothes store, throwing the keys to a nearby homeless man before walking inside. I peered amongst the clothes wracks, not making any attempt to either draw attention to myself or to interact with the staff of the store until I heard the car driving off. Immediately afterwards I found the best dress I could find in my size and bought it, along with a nice pair of heels to match. I won't go into detail on what the dress looked like, since I'm not really that into the fashion craze, but if you'd like a simple run down for visuals sakes, it was a nice sky blue. As soon as I was done in the shop I walked out into the street.

A couple of blocks later I managed to reach Gotham's most favored night club, and my official workplace, The Iceberg Lounge. Getting inside was no big deal since the security already knew me from my face and usual choice of clothing. I walked purposefully through reception, stopping only to tell the woman at the desk that I was going to meet with her boss in twenty minutes. One trip to the ladies room later and I was ready to meet with my boss, my old clothes being taken by staff to be washed and dried. Then it was just a matter of waiting patiently by the bar for one of my bosses' many assistants to tell me that I could see him. I still had some American money left after my little dress spiel, so I bought myself a drink.

Waiting is not my favorite pass time, since all I can gain from that activity was watching the world pass by, while I stay still and quiet. Impatience was also not a good trait to present, to the opinion of my long gone parents anyway. My fingers tapped lightly against the marble lino of the bar, I had made it a point to ignore any men that came my way, a simple turn of my head from their direction whenever they approached. Some were a little more ...braver, than the others, but a withering; ball shrinking glare seemed to send the message to them just fine.

Finally a waitress walked up to me, she looked a little distressed, so I could tell that she had met with my boss. Her head was hung a little low, but that didn't impair her speech in any way, I watched her performance with a strange mix of hilarity and sarcastic sympathy as my impatience was really pressing down on my usual polite exterior.

"Mr. Copplepot will see you now." Yeah I know I said before that being a Rouge is no good for a long lasting business, but I have to admit, having a name like that under your belt does help largely with what you're attempting to do in this town, and still I only worked for him and was gearing up to break away and become my own thing, should he get caught in any way. I nodded to her, giving her my half empty glass and walking up the steps to the boss' main office. I handed in my gun in to the desk leading to his office door before knocking on the polished wood, waiting politely till I heard the familiar gruff voice of the man I was working for to go in.

I slightly peeked through the now open door, just making sure ahead of time that something bad wasn't going down while I was here. I know that's a little paranoid of me, but at the same time, I like to be completely careful in times like this. Of course there was nothing seriously endangering to my person going on so I fully opened the door, making sure to put on my best fake smile for the man.

"Ah, if it isn't my favorite dove of the down trodden, what brings you to my establishment?" The kind-of-kingpin Rouge grinned at me with his sharp teeth, proudly displaying the fish bones that were caught in between them. I shivered a little inside, the guy had always had the capability to creep me out, but I was sure to keep it to myself, not wanting to insult him. It was bad for business, you see.

"A problem has arisen Sir, and you're not gonna like it." His grin faltered for a moment, but only a moment of course. He quickly recovered and continued in his previous attitude, gesturing for me to take a seat on the expensive leather seat in front of his desk. I thanked him and took the friendly gesture, not going to admit aloud that the shoes I was wearing were cutting rather finely into my feet. After making myself as comfortable as I could in his presence, I dug around the purse I had acquired, pulling out the left over money and plastic bag/washcloth collection (carefully unravelling it to reveal the used and full needles) and placed them very carefully on his desk, making sure once again not to accidentally cut myself with the sharp ends.

"The two used needles caused their customers to start breaking out in the serious giggles, and I don't mean the high kind. I mean the serious Joker related stuff Sir." I cringed a little when I thought over what I had said. I was always a little less informal when the situation actually called for it, so I did my best to add the 'sir' at the end, hoping that would save me a little more time on this earth. Apparently I was lucky, and he just nodded and took the needles, handing them to a nearby guard that had been in the corner of the room the whole time. After the intimidating guard had left the room things seemed to tone down in the seriousness for some reason, as my boss leaned back in his chair, a cigar somehow appearing form no where, the room already starting to smell of the cancer stick. He gestured towards a nearby cigar box, the suggestion was obvious.

"No thank you, I don't smoke." He gave me a look that clearly stated 'right sure, and I'm the Christian saint', but I ignored him, already wanting to leave. The reason I was here had now been dealt with and I wanted to leave as quick as possible, since the Iceberg Lounge was always really a place that was, how do you say... Danger riddled. There were always stories about what happened to women (sometimes even men) here, and there was little point in adding my name to a list of the unfortunate who didn't know when was a good time to leave.

"Well, I better get going; I do need to set up another place before the night ends." Mr. Cobblepot laughed, a strangled coughing like noise, like he was chocking on that disgusting fish bone, and sat straight form his relaxed position. Handing me back a small wad of the money I had given him, and by the colors in the collection of notes, I could tell that it was actually quite a bit, more than enough to buy up another place to use. I graciously took the money, again not forgetting my manners and thanking him for his generosity, and tired to make an exit forthwith from the office. Only to cringe slightly when he verbally stopped me from opening the door, my hand still reaching for the golden doorknob.

"Just a minute my dove, why not stay a little longer? There is some business you could take care of here for me." I was hoping with as much that I had that he didn't mean what I thought he did. I turned back to him to see that he now had a suitcase on his desk, which was opened, revealing the large, familiar bags of white and green sitting in the velvet innards of the case. I sighed, walking forward and smiled, thanking him again as I took the case from him. I was thankful for that moment that he was ordering me (though subtlety,) to sell some stuff other than the usual needles, he must have figured that the situation with Jay must have freaked me out to much to deal with them for a little while. And he was right.

Exiting the office I quickly set myself up in a corner of the main room, making sure I was hidden well. The suitcase wasn't opened, but people could obviously tell what it was from its place on the table. Some people eventually came by, and I did what I usually did. Some were a little 'disheartened' by the fact that there weren't any needles involved, but still business was as good as ever. The night dragged on and I eventually couldn't help but feel a little tired. I kept myself awake however, by ordering a crap load of coffee. The waitresses were of course more than a little confused by my request, but one look at the bags under my eyes and they nodded, understanding completely. By my eighth cup I was completely sure that I was no longer capable of sleep, and was thankfully, completely aware of my surroundings.

This was good for me because just at that moment, the Rouges started appearing and the civilian customers started to disappear in large throngs. Of course, every night past the twelve O'clock, was (known only by exclusive members and staff of Mr. Cobblepot of course,) 'Rouge Hours', a time in the Iceberg Lounge where the Rouges would appear and take over with their own shoddy deals and selling, all while downing those drinks. Other customers, and the press of course, were spoon-fed by Mr. Cobblepot that this was actually the closing time, though barley anyone worth a brain cell would ever actually fall for that excuse, still no one stepped in or said something because they would love to keep their heads and their money, and the Rouges weren't exactly doing anything illegal, nothing that could be proven anyway.

I briefly considered leaving right then, but then again I wasn't sure if I had made more than enough to make up for the whole Joker Serum incident. So I kept the suitcase on the table, several empty cups of coffee littering around it. Waitresses did eventually come around and cleaned the cups from the table, but not before anyone (*cough* Rouges *cough*) noticed. They seemed to mill around, though I could tell that their eyes were watching me, waiting for me to try something, daring me to try something, but I wasn't stupid. I waited for them to approach me, knowing what they would want and I would supply it, they were just customers to me. I tired to keep that mentality to myself, to comfort me from feeling to uncomfortable. Their just customers.

"Hey there goll," My brow furrowed at the mispronunciation, but that confusion very neatly cleaned itself up when I laid eyes on the speaker. While in the eyes of others that didn't really live the Gotham life might have seen an elderly old man with a ventriloquist dummy, but I knew Mr. Scarface when I saw him. I sat up a little straighter and calmed as many frayed nerves as I could, smoothing out the skirt of my dress, the gesture slightly reminding me of the nervous whore from hours ago, which only made me feel worse, and angry. And that was defiantly not what was good for me at this moment.

"Any poison you need for tonight sir?" I didn't bother asking the elderly man, since I knew better and knew who was in control here. I think the puppet (somehow, I don't know, good craftsmanship?) looked rather surprised that I was speaking to him directly. I wasn't stupid, I'd read the news, the stories about people that died because they were rude to the strange crime boss, and besides, I always knew better than to be rude to a Rouge.

"How much would this gring me?" He dumped a good thousand of dollars worth wads onto the table. My eyes widened but still I counted it, checking completely through it and through the suitcase before making the obvious conclusion that I'd had before I even checked to make sure. I looked back to the wooden crime boss and answered, probably sounding a lot more surprised than I should have to him.

"The whole suitcase sir." The puppet nodded and yelled at the old man holding him up to take the suitcase. The puppet thanked me for the business and left me alone with the large wad of cash, which I tried to pocket discretely, key word being tried. Other Rouges stopped noticing me then, I guessed it was because I no longer had anything for them, therefore I stopped being important. As soon as the money was gone from eyesight I moved on, walking quickly through the club towards the Penguin's Office, not looking anyone directly in the eye since I did happen to know what was best for survival.

I got to the office (noticing that the woman that was there before seemed to have gone home,) and was about to knock on the door, when I heard muffled voices starting to rise in argument. Taking a step back, I thought over whether I should just go in anyway, or just go and come back some time later. However, I was not very keen on going back into the dining room, since it was filled with Rouges, but at the same time I did not want to go in there. So instead I just stood at the door, waiting for whatever was going on to pass so that I could leave this damn place.

Fortunately I did not have to wait for long, since the door was opened with such force, that I was knocked sideways and thankfully, out of the way from the person exiting the room. It took a little time to get my bearings, but I did look back up to see who had 'door slapped' me. I was surprised to see that it wasn't what I expected at all, especially what with the complaint I had just made only a few hours ago. Instead, in the place where I figured should have been a psychotic killer clown, was instead a short, gangly teen girl, dressed much like you would expect such a teen to dress, with as little care in their appearance as possible. I couldn't see her face; it was shielded by black and greasy hair that reached her elbows. She stopped for a moment in her walking to look over at me, bloodshot blue eyes peaking out along with a small pale nose through the greasy curtain of hair.

"Hay Lo," She whispered cheerfully, before continuing to walk, her bare feet almost intentionally dragging across the floor. However, the person who followed after her was someone she was actually expecting, but was still not the psychotic clown himself. Harley Quinn bounced her way after the freakish kid, her attitude looking as though she could possibly drown the poor teen with her enthusiasm alone. The clown girl didn't me one look to count me in existence, but all the same I didn't really feel all that let down by it, after all, my opinion of her was pretty low, and I didn't want to set it any lower.

A few minutes passed before I walked into the Penguin's office, peeking around the door frame to see if he was still breathing in there first. When I was sure, I moved quickly back into the seat I was in, my boss patting his forehead with a napkin, the expression on his face telling me he was too annoyed to be scared or something like that, not that he ever would be from a spastic demon child, and that gangly greasy teen. Eventually he managed to talk to me, but his request was not something I wanted to really hear, especially since I wanted to leave.

"My dear dove, I'm afraid I need to ask more of you, that strange girl you saw, I need you to get information on her," My head dropped, my shoulders sagged, and while it may have looked as though I was tired and didn't want to do it through exhaustion, I actually did that to mask my annoyance. I was annoyed, since I knew I would have to do it, he was my boss after all, and there was also the fact that I knew it was more likely I could get in serious heat from this. I looked back up again after I was sure the annoyed glare was gone from my face, to plead my case.

"But sir, I'm a drug dealer, not a detective," That amused him, but unfortunately it did nothing to sway his order, as he said nothing more of it. I sighed deeply and handed the cash I had gotten from the Scarface deal, watching him take it with as much fake blankness as I could. I stood out of my seat and was about to leave the room, before I remembered some very good points that I would need to ever even carry out this order. I walked back in quickly and took back my seat, speaking quickly in order to not take up any more of his time, but just for my sake of course.

"Umm, there are some things I'm going to need before I start my 'investigation'. Like a place to stay, some money for bribing, or whatever I might need to pay for. Hell, I definitely am going to need her name to start with." He nodded along as I spoke, a mutual understanding coming between us as he flipped through the wad of cash, and handed me practically half of it. I took it graciously, not forgetting my manners for one second as I thanked him and went for the door, stopping once again as he spoke after me.

"You know, I never got to ask my dear dove, what is your name?" Typical, three years of working here, finally he asks. I looked back at him form the door frame as I thought over my answer, smiling slyly as I replied. I guessed I thought at the time that I was being funny; well it was more than a guess since he did chuckle a little to himself at what I had said. I didn't figure my name as that important to this world that I had associated myself in, after all, names are a powerful weapon that one must wield with care; such things can ruin you in this life.

"Irene Adler, at your service sir. Oh, but you never told me the kid's name," Mr. Cobblepot straightened his stance in his seat and looked through the files that were on his desk, pulling out a certain piece of paper that wasn't that filled with words. He looked back up, the small glasses that he had been wearing for some reason apart from seeing, since he was unable to look through them, what with them being hooked at the end of his nose. His answer wasn't all that different, since the name didn't hold any real significance on me, personally.

"Her name is…"

* * *

**Please review, constructive criticism always welcome.  
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